of people."

All the fun and laughter vanished from Patricia's gray eyes. She looked
about the pleasant, homelike room, with its trimmings of evergreen and
holly, and a swift, sharp, realizing sense of what was going on down at
the hotel came to her. For a moment the girl's lips quivered and the
hand that held Tommy's empty stocking trembled. "But, Nell," she said
slowly, "I am sure--oh, I know they would want their children to have
their Christmas. It would be too dreadful, afterwards--if they could
remember nothing but--sadness and--sorrow. O Nell, I wonder if there
were any children hurt?"

"I don't know," Nell answered. "Let's--not talk about it, Patricia.
Shall I put the trumpet in Archibald's stocking?"

"I suppose so, he's larger than Tommy. I don't know what Aunt Julia will
do if he wakes up early and starts to blowing it. Poor Aunt Julia! She's
got a lot of surprises coming her way." Patricia stuffed out the toe of
Lydia's stocking with the regulation nuts and raisins. "There," she
said, a moment later, "I reckon these are ready to hang up again."

They tiptoed upstairs softly; the children were all sleeping quietly,
and even Custard barely opened the corner of one eye at Patricia's
coming.

Custard was having the time of his life. Hitherto, beds had been
strictly forbidden ground with Custard; and just what could have brought
about this most delightful state of affairs was quite beyond his powers
of imagination, but he was wisely wasting no time in idle speculation.

Patricia stroked him a bit dubiously. "I am afraid Aunt Julia will rebel
at this, old fellow; but Archibald's got fast hold of you, and I simply
can't risk waking him up."

"I must go now, Pat," Nell said, as they went downstairs again; "I told
Papa I'd be back soon."

"Somehow," she added, as she and Patricia stood a moment on the front
steps, "I can't make it seem like Christmas eve--not even with your five
stockings, Pat."

Patricia looked out at the white whirl of snow; the street seemed
deserted, but here and there, where a blind had been left undrawn,
a light shone out.

Then, from the house next door, came the sound of a Christmas carol:

"Hark! the herald angels sing
Glory to the new-born King."

Clearly, joyously, through the still, snow-laden air, sounded the
words--

"Risen with healing in His wings,
Light and life to all He brings.
Hail, the Sun of Righteousness!
Hail, the heaven-born Prince of Peace!"